


Happily Ever After, Here We Are

by nokia_writes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Eddie Lives, Fix-It, Getting Together, Hanbrough, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Reddie, just a little bit though, so does Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-28 12:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21136637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokia_writes/pseuds/nokia_writes
Summary: Bill Denbrough has never seen Richie Tozier cry.  Not until Eddie almost dies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> very bold and _hilarious_ of Andrew Muschietti to think i would believe that richie would let himself be dragged away from eddie’s body. richie would die before he’d let that happen.
> 
> anyway, here’s the ending we deserve.

Bill Denbrough has never once in his life seen Richie Tozier cry. Sure, when they had that dumb fight when they were kids — when Bill’s fist connected with Richie’s jaw — he’d _heard_ the sound of tears, in his voice. He’d _heard_ it in the way Richie’s insults cracked with betrayal like those damned fortune cookies. Just maybe, after Beverly split them up, did Bill hear a sniffle or two. But never once did he see Richie cry.

Never once did he see Richie Tozier — covered in blood that wasn’t his, glasses cracked, body trembling — cry until the nurses wheeled Eddie away into the ICU.

And it’s a sight any of them could have lived happily without seeing.

There’s a beat of silence as Eddie disappears behind the doors with doctors and nurses at his side, and then Richie caves. His knees give out and Mike moves forward in a second to catch him as sobs rack his tired body. Ben and Beverly are next at his side, practically dragging him over to a chair and getting him to sit down. Bill’s frozen to the spot. Something about seeing Richie, his broken, heavy sobs muffled by Mike’s shoulder, renders Bill unable to move. 

Mike’s sitting in the chair next to Richie, as close as he can be thanks to the lack of arm rests, holding him in both arms. Beverly removes Richie’s glasses — now stained with tears — and places them on the linoleum tiled floor, before cupping his face and shushing him gently. Ben grips his arm and looks up at him, and he’s crying too. He’s crying because maybe he’s putting it together now too — that Richie had _adored_ Eddie the same way Ben adored Beverly for the past twenty-seven years. Bill thinks he understands it too, just a little bit.

So he forces himself to move and sit down on the other side of Richie. He wraps his arms around him like they’re kids again watching some scary movie and puts his head on Richie’s back. He lays his head there and feels every harsh breath Richie takes, every breath he exhales into a sob. Bill closes his eyes and holds him. It’s all they can do now.

Eddie’s not doing good, the doctors tell Mike when they elect him to go get the dreaded news, hours later, nearing midnight. He lost a lot of blood and there was a lot of internal damage. But he’d survived the initial surgery, which they hadn’t been expecting. Mike rubs Richie’s back as he tells him. Richie’s eyes are gray, and dark circles paint the skin under them. But he nods, and his shoulders drop, like the news has reassured him just slightly.

They all need a shower. They’re caked in dirt and sewage and Beverly’s completely covered head to toe in blood. They absolutely reek and they all know it. And they’re hungry — but that’s a less important fact. They have to beg Richie to come back to the Inn with them. He refuses hard at first, he wants to wait here for Eddie, he doesn’t want to leave him. They all look at each other, unsure of what to do. They can’t just leave Richie here alone. So Bill says the only thing he can think of. 

“Come on Rich, you think Eh-Eddie’s gonna want to wuh-wake up to you looking like that?”

That gets him moving. He looks down at himself, thinks about it, and then stands up finally. His face has brightened a little, a small smile playing amongst his features.

Bill doesn’t think he’s ever been this grateful for a shower before. Nothing feels better than watching all that shit wash off his body and down the drain. Well, maybe changing into new, clean clothes feels even better. He meets the others downstairs when he’s done. Beverley’s changed into a sweater and plain jeans, and she’s on the phone. Ben’s sitting next to her, clutching her hand. Richie must still be in the shower.

Mike turns to look at Bill when he enters, then he motions to Beverley and whispers, “It’s Stan.”

Bill immediately tunes into what Beverly’s saying.

“The doctors seem, less than hopeful, I suppose. But he’s alive, which is what matters.” Beverly rubs her hand over her eyes, mouth turning into a sharp frown. 

“...We almost lost him Stan. After we killed It, when we found him lying there, we were _sure_-...we’d all thought-“ She breaks off into a sniff, hand going to cover her mouth. Ben pulls her closer as she nods meekly at something Stan says.

Mike sighs next to him, and Bill puts an arm around him and pulls him into a hug. Bill’s skin tingles, hot and happy, when Mike returns the hug, wide hands resting on his back. Richie trots downstairs as they’re pulling away from each other, his pace fast and eyes wide. Stan tells Bev that he’ll fly in as soon as he can — and they tell him not to rush it; he’s fresh out of the hospital himself — and then she hangs up and they get back on the road. 

They want to stop to get some food, but Richie won’t hear of it, so they end up dropping him off at the hospital and calling in an order at whatever fast food place is open twenty-four hours. On the way there, Mike speaks up from behind the wheel.

“The doctors told me they don’t think he’ll make it. They said to prepare for the worst.”

They’re all silent. The news sits heavy on their laps; like the finishing blow of a battle they didn’t realize they were in.

“I’m sorry,” he continues, brows furrowed with a horrible sorrow, “I didn’t want Richie to know. I’m sorry.”

They remain silent for a few more minutes. None of them have anything to say.

“What do we do?” Ben asks while the car stops at a red light. 

Bill grits his teeth and thinks of those first few days after Georgie went missing. Thinks of what he did back then.

“We hope for the best.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers Club wait for Eddie to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little more hanbrough in this chapter than y’all probs wanted oops :)

Minutes bleed into hours, and time becomes unrecognizable. The sun rises, and they spend more time in the waiting room. The sun sets. They sleep in the hospital, heads resting on shoulders and knees knocking together. Bill thinks it’s been about a couple days since Richie carried Eddie through those hospital doors. He wakes up from a touch and go sleep to find just him and Richie in the row of blue plastic chairs. 

“Where’s everyone?”

Richie looks up at him. His eyes are glassy. Bill wonders if he’d slept at all.

“Ben and Bev went to get food. Mike said he was getting some air.” Richie motions to the doors. It’s light outside, looking about midday or early in the afternoon. 

“How are y-you feeling?”

Richie shrugs, sits back. He looks like he’s about to respond, but he doesn’t. Bill nods, not needing to get a response to know his answer. He puts his hand on Richie’s knee. Bill can’t be cold to him; nothing was worse than the way his parents shut him out when Georgie died. Nothing was worse than sitting on that cold couch between them, the house silent except for the ticking of the clock.

“Eddie’s strong, Rich, h-he’s not going anywhere.”

Richie doesn’t respond, but his head tilts slightly, like the start of a nod. Bill removes his hand and just sits with him. They watch people walk in and out of those double doors in comfortable silence. Bill’s just about to say something else when Richie finally speaks.

“How much do you remember? From when we were kids?”

“About Eddie?” Bill thinks for a moment. He can remember those eyes, always wide, and Eddie’s voice, constantly warning them about something, or constantly spewing something about an epidemic in some distant country or a new medical discovery. “I remember him being like he is n-now, smaller though.”

Richie smiles, and looks down at his hands in his lap. He’s silent for a little while longer. 

“I remember,” Richie says, then pauses, “there was this one time, I was coming home from the arcade and uh, Bowers found me, y’know.” 

Bill nods, thinking of the bandage that had been on Eddie’s cheek.

“He and his dumbass posse followed me home and beat the shit out of me, busted up my glasses and all that.”

Bill nods. Richie’s still looking down.

“Instead of going home, I went to find Eddie.” Richie picks his head up, but he doesn’t look to Bill. “I found him at the clubhouse. We went there sometimes, without the rest of you guys.” This time, he does look at Bill, “Sorry.”

Bill just smiles.

“I was crying like a baby, and I could hardly breathe. I think it was the closest I’d ever gotten to a grade-A Eddie Kaspbrak asthma attack. But, he managed to calm me down. Don’t tell him I told you, but he even let me use his inhaler.” Richie laughs, his eyes shimmering. 

Bill laughs too, because he can see that picture so clearly; Eddie letting Richie and _only Richie_ use his inhaler when he was freaking out, making him keep it a secret between them. Bill bet the two of them shared tons of secrets.

Richie’s laughs subsides, and he smiles sadly. “We shared the hammock, that afternoon. Eddie actually didn’t get mad at me for that stupid fuckin’ rule. We laid in it together and he held me and I felt so happy, Bill. I would have gotten my ass beat by Bowers all over again if it meant he’d keep taking care of me. And that’s when I knew, I think.”

He looks to Bill and nods, more to himself, a tear falling slowly down his cheek only to be quickly wiped away. Bill knows what Richie means, but he says it anyway.

“That’s when I knew I’d met my favorite person.” Richie grins sheepishly and looks down at his lap as he continues to cry. 

Bill sniffs, unaware he was crying too until he feels the tears drip down his chin. He wipes at them feebly before wrapping an arm around Richie’s shoulders and tugging him close. Richie obliges, letting his head thump on Bill’s shoulder. They sit like that for a while, and Bill waits patiently until Richie stops crying.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Bill whispers, for him or Richie neither of them can tell. “He was always the s-strongest out of a-all of us.”

“The bravest too.” Richie nods, voice thick with sadness.

Bill thinks of Richie caught in the deadlights; eyes rolled back and jaw slack as his body started to die. Eddie launching the broken, wrought-iron fence post directly into It’s throat. Bill thinks back to his fists clenched in Eddie’s shirt, pure anger and panic spurring those words out of his mouth. Bill thinks back to Eddie trembling as he looked at him.

_”Please don’t be mad, Bill. I was just scared.”_

After several more minutes of sitting in silence, Bill tells Richie he’s going to get Mike, and stands up. His joints crack and his muscles ache as he moves to the door.

He finds Mike a little ways away from the door, sitting on the curb. Bill pauses when he sees him, but eventually, he continues his walk until he’s standing next to him. Mike looks up at him, and rubs a hand over his face, breathing deeply.

“Hey big Bill, how are you feeling?”

Bill shrugs, “Like shit, to b-be honest.”

Mike cracks a smile, and looks out over the parking lot. “Same here.” He says without being prompted.

“Leh-let’s take a walk.” Bill extends his arm, and Mike looks up at him for a moment before he clasps it in his hand and pulls himself up.

They walk the perimeter of the building, along the winding sidewalk, past cars and other people bustling in and out of the pristine white hospital. 

“How’d you do it, Mikey?” Bill asks after a while of silent walking. Mike looks at him to elaborate. “H-How’d you stay here alone all these years, in this d-damn town?”

Mike sighs, broad shoulders sagging as they continue with their lazy pace. “I wasn’t completely alone. I had you guys, in my memories. I think I just had to focus on seeing you all again.”

“You couldn’t even forget, Mikey,” Bill shakes his head, looking down, “you h-had to remember everything-“

“To be fair, there was a lot I wanted to remember.” Mike looks at him, and smiles, but Bill still isn’t satisfied. He’s been itching to ask Mike about this since he got his memories back — since he realized just what Mike had sacrificed to kill that clown.

“But...wasn’t it-...”

“Lonely?” Mike finishes, laughing a little under his breath. Bill bites his tongue. “Just a little. But I had to figure out how to kill It, Bill. That’s what mattered all those years.”

They walk in silence for a few more minutes, now behind the hospital. Their shoulders brush occasionally. 

“I’m sorry.” Bill says, breaking the silence. He is. He’s sorry Mike was alone and scared for so long; he’s sorry Mike had no one to talk to about the thugs in those town that tortured him. He’s sorry he doubted coming back to Derry for even a second.

“For what?”

“For leaving. F-for forgetting a-and moving on,” Bill swallows, stops walking, and tries to get a handle on his words. “I’m sorry, Mikey.”

Mike stops walking too and looks back at him. They’re a bit less than an arms length apart, and Bill can’t stop thinking about how he wants to hug him again.

“I forgave you a long time ago, Bill,” then, he corrects himself, clearing his throat, “I’ve forgiven all of you. I would’ve left this place if I could too. I’m just glad we all found each other again.”

Bill smiles and steps forward to hug him. But something happens in him and before he even realizes what he’s doing he tilts his head up and kisses Mike. 

He appreciates the warmth of Mike’s mouth for only a moment before reality hits him in the gut and he steps back. Bill’s face flushes.

“I’m s-suh-sorry-“

“Don’t be. I liked it.” Mike grins at him, and Bill swallows down his nerves. 

Bill laughs, relief flooding him like he’s some dumb teenager again. He ducks his head down to avoid Mike’s suddenly overwhelming gaze. Mike brings his hand up and rests it on the side of Bill’s neck, like he’d done after that awful final battle. He brushes his thumb over the fluttering pulse point in Bill’s throat. Bill reaches up and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“We...probably sh-shouldn’t leave Richie alone for too long.” 

Mike nods, and lets his hand fall, to Bill’s immediate disappointment. But he stays close to Bill as they walk back around the building to the main entrance. The wind’s just starting to pick up as they get inside, and Bill notices instantly that something’s amiss. 

Ben and Beverly are back, with paper bags presumably filled with food, but Beverly’s crying. Bill’s heart drops. Richie is crying too, currently embracing a man Bill doesn’t recognize. He’s tall and lean with dirty blond curls. Bill’s shoulders sag, and he thinks for a moment that the news has been delivered, that a nurse came to tell them that Eddie had died while Richie was alone. But then Richie lets the man go and he turns to look at them and—

_‘Beverly was right’_ Bill thinks.

Stanley Uris is like he was twenty-seven years ago, just taller.

His eyes move over Bill and Mike, and he grins, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. 

“Oh my god,” Bill sighs out, and then he’s rushing forward, pulling Stan into a crushing hug. Stan laughs against him, arms coming up to return it.

One of his wrists is bandaged, Bill sees when Stan goes to hug Mike as well, and it hits Bill in his heart. He remembers the horrible fear that had gripped all six of them when they broke open those fortune cookies. How they’d all huddled around the phone as they called Stan’s wife, only to learn he was in the hospital for trying to take his own life.

But Stan is here and he’s fine and alive, and Beverley’s crying with happiness, Bill finally realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reddie really kicks in in the next chapter :)
> 
> leave! comments!! they make me smile!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s reddie time you plebs let’s go
> 
> also richie eddie and stan are bffs change my mind

They eat in the waiting room again, but this time they talk and laugh over the food. Seeing Stan again breathes new life into all of them, and for a little while, things feel like they’ve fallen back into place. But deep down, they all know why they’re here. They’re reminded of it when Richie refuses to go back to the Inn when the sun sets. It takes Stan, sitting down and talking to him, promising they’ll be back as soon as the sun rises, to get Richie to go. Even then, he seems hesitant, glancing over his shoulder as they walk to their cars. 

As Stan promised, he and Richie head back to the hospital as soon as they wake up the next morning. The others stop to get breakfast, and meet them at the hospital. They’re all in the middle of a conversation over breakfast — pancakes and omelets in white styrofoam boxes — when the doctor approaches them. The Losers fall silent.

Then the miracle happens.

“He’s awake.”

Each of them stare at the doctor. Then they stare at each other. Richie swallows, then speaks first.

“Like, he’s conscious?”

The doctor nods, smiling. “He’s pumped full of pain meds, so he might be a little loopy, but he’s conscious.”

Richie’s face breaks into a grin for the first time, and Ben laughs in disbelief. He hugs Beverly as she smiles and laughs too. Bill thinks he might cry. 

“Can we visit him?” Stan asks, already packing up his food in the little foam container.

“Yes, but I would limit it to one or two people at a time. We don’t want to overwhelm him. He’s still very much healing.”

They all look to Richie. He’s still staring up at the doctor, but once he feels eyes on him he looks at the rest of them. His eyebrows shoot up above the thick rims of his glasses. 

“Go on Trashmouth,” Bill smiles.

Richie clears his throat, fumbling to get his meal off his lap and back into the paper bag. Stan leans over and says something that Bill can’t hear, and Richie socks him in the arm for it, but he’s smiling. 

The doctor takes him down the hall and then through a set of doors to another hall. Eventually they stop at a room. The doctor steps back and motions to the door. Richie looks at him.

“This one?”

The doctor nods, smiling up at him. Richie looks at the doorknob, then hesitantly, reaches forward and grips the smooth metal in his palm. He stills, then twists it and opens the door. 

It’s quiet inside the room, and the curtains are half drawn. It’s late afternoon by now, the sunlight crisp and golden. Eddie’s in the bed, the one side of his face covered in clean white bandages. His eyes are closed, and Richie contemplates going to get the doctor because it’s obvious he’s not awake but then the door closes behind him and Eddie’s eyes flicker open at the noise.

He looks at Richie through half-closed eyes, his brows furrowing in a particularly cute way. He’s in a clean hospital gown and has a band wrapped around one pale wrist. Richie can barely breathe.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice is quiet and hoarse, but it’s definitely Richie’s name, and it sends fireworks off in his stomach. 

“Yeah, h-hey Eds.” 

Eddie mutters something like a ‘don’t call me that’ and starts to sit up, but then he winces in pain and Richie springs into action. 

“No, no, don’t move.” Richie pulls a chair over to the side of the bed and sits down. Eddie watches him as he lays back down, chest rising and falling ever so slowly. He makes a pained noise, and Richie moves closer.

“Hey, it’s okay, alright? You’re safe, we’re all safe, Eds.” Richie touches his shoulder and lets his hand linger for just a moment, then pulls it away. Eddie’s eyes move downward, to where Richie’s set his forearm on the bed and then he looks up again and meets Richie’s eyes. Eddie picks up his hand and holds it out to him, and Richie takes it in both of his without hesitating.

“...‘s It dead?”

Richie nods, breaking into a shaky grin. His throat’s starting to swell up. He can’t tell if he’s sad or happy. Maybe both? 

“Yeah, yeah, we killed It. You were right, Eds, we just had to make It small. You were right.”

Eddie makes a noise, and Richie thinks he sees a weak smile playing on his face. His hand moves from where it’s clasped between Richie’s, and Eddie’s fingers intertwine slowly with his. Warmth spreads through Richie’s chest and he scoots forward in his chair.

“I-I’m so glad you’re awake, Eds.” Richie’s voice is soft, much softer than he’s ever allowed it to be around anyone. But this is _Eddie._ This is the boy he’s loved for twenty-seven years; the boy that almost died in his arms.

“I...we all thought you wouldn’t make it,” Richie ducks his head and pulls his hands away to wipe under his glasses. He hadn’t meant to cry. After a moment, he forces out, “I was so fuckin’ _scared_, Eddie.”

Richie sniffs and wipes under his glasses again. The room is too quiet for his comfort; he wishes he hadn’t come in here alone.

Something brushes his shoulder, and when he picks his head up, Eddie presses his open palm softly to his cheek, thumb brushing the bottom rim of his glasses. His fingers drag slowly across Richie’s cheek, and it feels like sparklers going off under his skin. Richie swallows, feeling his face heat up. He wonders if Eddie can feel the warmth too. 

Eddie’s looking at him, eyes and features soft as he wipes another tear from Richie’s skin. He smiles slowly, the bandage crinkling.

“Your mom cried like this when I fucked her.”

Richie erupts into a laugh, eyes closing as more tears fall. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He gets out before he turns his face into Eddie’s palm, grinning into his hand. Richie reaches up and clasps his hand over Eddie’s. When he opens his eyes, Eddie’s smiling at him. 

He can’t tell if it’s the pain meds or the fact that he was nearly killed but Richie never wants Eddie to stop touching his face. He’d give anything to keep Eddie’s hand on his cheek forever.

When Eddie wakes up, it’s early morning. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the fight. He remembers very little; he remembers the pain, and his shirt, wet and sticky and warm with blood. He remembers Richie, balling up his jacket to try and stop the bleeding. He remembers him carrying Eddie out of the sewers; his head on Richie’s chest. He must have passed out before they got out, because the last thing he remembers is Richie picking him up, and the whispers of _‘you’re going to be okay, Eds, I’ve got you, you’re going to be alright, just keep breathing, okay?’._

And he remembers Richie, in his hospital room, crying and gripping Eddie’s hand like he was still bleeding out. He remembers touching Richie’s face and wiping away his tears in his doped up haze. Eddie flushes at the memory. He feels like an _idiot._

Eddie opens his eyes and breathes in, feeling the stitches in his stomach stretch with a dull ache. He makes a small, low sound in his throat at the pain. He tries to shift on the bed, but that only makes it worse. When he blinks the sunlight out of his eyes, he realizes all of the Losers are in the room with him, still asleep. It’s a funny sight; seeing them all squeezed into chairs that obviously weren’t in this room before. 

Ben and Bev are by the window; Bev’s hair in a messy knot and her feet tucked up on the chair with her. Ben’s got his arm around her shoulders and her head’s on his chest. Mike and Bill are next to them, Bill with his arms crossed and head resting on Mike’s shoulder. Stan’s on the other side of Bill—

_‘Holy fuck, Stan’s here’_

Eddie doesn’t even have to think about it; he recognizes Stanley instantly. He’s got the same eyes and nose that he did when he was a kid, except now they’re tucked behind a book. He must feel Eddie’s unbelieving eyes on him, because he looks up at him over the rim of his glasses and smiles.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something along the lines of _‘holy shit’_ when Stan raises a finger to his lips silently. Eddie closes his mouth. Stan smiles and points at Eddie — or actually, next to Eddie.

Eddie follows Stan’s finger to find Richie hunched over the bed next to him, face resting on his arm in a way that does not look comfortable, his hand still entwined with Eddie’s. Eddie closes his eyes and sighs, hearing Stan chuckle quietly from the corner. 

“_Someone_ missed you while you were out.” Stan hums, his voice low as he flips a page in his book. Eddie smirks at him.

“Bold of _you_ to say,” Eddie responds, voice hoarse, “when did you get here?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Stan takes his glasses off and puts his book down, “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Eddie responds, feeling his muscles ache each time he breathes. He wonders what the stitches look like. Is it infected? They were crawling around in the sewers after all, there had to be all kinds of brain eating bacteria in that greywater. He wonders how big the scar will be. 

“Do you remember much?”

“Not really,” Eddie squirms, careful not to move his hand too much. He doesn’t want to wake Richie, since it looks like he could use the sleep more than Eddie could. “It’s dead though. We killed It for good.”

“So I’ve heard.” Stan looks at Richie again, and then back at Eddie. He raises his eyebrows. Eddie tries to ignore Stan’s smug, knowing look and the warmth of Richie’s hand in his. 

“How long have I been out?”

“Well,” Stan thinks, “it’s been a few days since Beverly called me.”

“Shit,” Eddie sighs, and rubs a hand over his eyes, the movement pulling awkwardly at the wound in his stomach, making him hiss in pain. “Was everyone freaking out?”

“Yup.”

Eddie winces. But at the same time, he feels his heart go warm with affection. “I guess you weren’t that bothered though?”

Stan, who had gone back to his book, looks up at him over the cover. He’s quiet for a moment,  
then he smiles. “I wasn’t too worried. _Someone_ had to keep Richie from losing his mind.”

Eddie feels kid face go warm, his fingers twitching in Richie’s palm. He’s still asleep on the side of the bed, body rising and falling slowly.

“We could barely get him to leave your side.” Stan hums absently, and Eddie urgently switches the subject. He doesn’t like thinking of Richie worrying.

“Are you staying here in Derry?”

Stan laughs breathily, “God no, Patty and I are staying at a hotel in Bangor.”

Eddie squints, “Your wife?”

Stan smiles, “Yeah.”

Eddie feels his gut tighten, suddenly remembering _he himself_ has a wife as well. He swallows. Myra will go batshit once she hears about this. But maybe he might just want that? Maybe he wants her to flip out and divorce him so Eddie can finally be free—

Eddie glances down at Richie. His glasses are askew and his lips are slightly parted, he’s drooling a little onto his sleeve. _‘Gross’_ Eddie wants to think, but all he can actually think is _‘cute’._

Bill shifts from his place next to Mike, his eyelids fluttering open and then shut again. But then he opens his eyes again and squints at Eddie. Eddie raises a couple fingers in a wave, and Bill’s eyes widen. He springs up, nearly falling off the chair, and the noise wakes everyone else up. Eddie sighs and shakes his head as Stan laughs; so much for staying quiet. Richie gasps awake, leaping up and letting go of Eddie’s hand in the process. The cold air is unwelcome on his palm.

“Holy shit,” Bill clears his throat, “h-hey.”

“Hi.” Eddie smiles.

Beverly leaps up, grinning, “Eddie! You’re up, oh my god!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—“ Eddie starts but then Bev is tugging him gently into a hug, her arms around his shoulders as he leans into her. He pats her arm gently, then stiffens when he hears her sniff.

“Bev, I’m fine-“

“We were so worried about you,” Ben says, grinning, his eyes shimmering. If all of them are going to cry, Eddie might just lose his mind. Bev nods, then steps back, wiping her face.

“The doctors said-“ She sniffs, shaking her head, then smiles.

“They didn’t know if you’d live, Eddie.” Mike says, his voice quiet but his smile genuine.

“Well, I did, can everyone stop crying now?”

That gets a good laugh out of all of them. Sure they’re all still crying, but Richie’s grinning and laughing and wiping at his wet eyes and that’s all Eddie needs at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eddie waking up after almost dying: i lived bitch
> 
> comments and kudos keep me writing!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has something to confess. He may or may not be drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry!!! i’ve been real busy with classes and halloween activities please forgive me 
> 
> anyway reddie stans come get y’all juice!!!

Slowly but surely, Eddie begins to heal. Each time he wakes up from his meds-induced sleeps, he stays awake longer. The doctors begin to switch his bandages less and less frequently, and the panic and fear that had made their hearts ache begins to subside. 

Soon, Pennywise’s grip on them disappears entirely, and no one is afraid anymore. It might have tried to disband the Losers one final time through what It did to Eddie and Stan, but It’s efforts proved to be in vain. The scars on their palms end up vanishing along with the nightmares and the horror that had plagued the Losers Club since that one fateful summer.

It is dead and the Derry they all knew died with It.

They meet Stan’s wife, a blonde woman with a nice smile. Eddie likes her instantly, when she smiles at him and squeezes his shoulder and says that Stan has told her _all_ about him.  
Her and Beverly get along great; they’ve known each other for a day and a half and they’re already whispering like schoolgirls and sharing stories about high school and college. 

After receiving an ‘all clear’ from the doctors, their allowed to bring take out into Eddie’s room so they can all eat like normal again. They chat and laugh and fool around like they had their first night in back Derry, but this time Stan’s here and Eddie’s in a hospital bed. Somehow it feels so _so_ much better. 

“Okay, okay,” Richie sputters as the laughter in the room dies down, “I wanna say something.”

“Oh great, someone’s trashed,” Eddie mutters, taking a sip of his water; alcohol is forbidden for patients. Ben laughs heartily.

“I am not trashed, how _dare_ you Eds.” Richie retorts, but then makes a face when he stumbles to stand up, earning a giggle from Bev. “I am _lightly_ buzzed.”

“Just get it over with, Trashmouth.” Bill shakes his head and Richie raises his beer bottle in a ridiculously regal manner.

“I have something to confess, my dear Losers.”

“Richie, you’re drunk.” Stan warns, and Richie shushes him. Bill feels like he knows what’s about to happen. Stan glances at him, eyebrows furrowed in panic.

“I — Richie the Trashmouth Tozier — am a fraud.” He swings his bottle around at the six of them, and Ben shakes his head, hiding a smile behind his wide hands. 

Stan breathes in, “Rich—“

“Because every time I was balls deep in Eddie’s mom—“

“Jesus,” Eddie grumbles and shakes his head. 

“— I was actually fantasizing about Bill’s dear old dad.”

Bill’s got his face in his hands. Eddie’s looking wide eyed up at Richie. Richie looks at all six of them, still smiling.

“I’m gay.”

They’re all silent. Richie looks at Bev, and shrugs.

“Sorry Bevvie, I know you were really hoping to get with this,” He motions to himself; wrinkled jeans, a patterned button up — the same shit he’s been wearing since he was fourteen.

“But Ben, my man,” Richie turns on an unfortunate Ben, “the store is open, pal.”

The room is horribly, _suffocatingly_ silent for one spilt second, and then Ben splits into a laugh. Beverly does too. Soon they’re all cracking the fuck up as Richie takes a teetering bow and slumps back into his chair. Stan shakes his head and shoves Richie playfully, but he doesn’t look panicked anymore. Even if they all may have known deep down that Richie was gay, the monumental meaning of this moment for him is not lost on them. 

Bill doesn’t realize at the time, but the only one of them not laughing is Eddie.

The routine after that is the usual; the others go back to the Inn, while Richie usually stays until Eddie falls back asleep. Normally, they talk casually until Eddie grows quieter and quieter, slowly drifting off to sleep, but tonight Eddie is quiet. He pokes at the remains of his rice before he ultimately decides it’s not worth it and he sets it off to the side with a sigh. Richie eyes him over the rim of his glasses, heart pounding. He’s been quiet since Richie came out. He didn’t expect any of the Losers to be weird about it; but he especially did not expect _Eddie_ to be weird. 

It’s absolutely _killing_ Richie.

He wants to ask, to prod and poke until he knows what the hell’s going on in that beautiful brain, but the courage the alcohol had granted him is gone now. So he swallows, returning his eyes to the book he’s reading, waiting for Eddie to fall asleep so he can leave this unbearable tension behind. 

After maybe twenty minutes of deafening silence, Eddie clears his throat, and Richie’s stomach twists.

“Can I ask you something?”

Richie looks up at him, blood thrumming in his ears, his heart practically in his throat. “Sure.”

Eddie looks out the window at the darkened night, and then back at Richie. “When did you know?”

Richie knows what he’s asking, but he wants to hear it. He wants to hear Eddie say the word. “Know what?”

Eddie frowns, “When did you know you were gay?”

Somehow, hearing Eddie say it out loud makes it all the more real. Richie blinks, realizing that he just came out after twenty-seven years of hiding. It’s suddenly very, very overwhelming. 

Richie shrugs, knowing he can’t be silent for too long, “Since I was, like, thirteen?” 

Eddie looks at him. Then he nods and looks out the window again. Richie can’t bare the silence now that Eddie’s acknowledged what they’re both thinking, so he swallows down his jittering nerves.

“What.”

Eddie looks back at him, eyebrows creased adorably. “What?”

“Do you wanna say something?”

Eddie looks forward, thinking. “Do _you_ want me to say something?”

Richie pauses. He hadn’t been expecting that response, and he’s unprepared to answer it. “I dunno.” 

Eddie nods, and looks down again, thinking. Even though Richie knows he’s really the only one who was struggling to come out, he thinks this information must be hard for Eddie, in his own way, as well.

Richie thinks about the leper. The thought comes to him unwanted and unwelcome; how Eddie described it as a ‘walking infection’. He thinks of something Eddie said when they were kids, when they were in the middle of trying to staunch the bleeding from that H on Ben’s stomach. Richie can barely remember what he’d actually said but it was something along the lines of _‘you guys know there’s an AIDS epidemic right now, right? A-and my mom said her friend got infected through a hangnail— through a hangnail!’_

Does Eddie think Richie is a walking infection too?

“Just say it.” Richie bites out, his heart pounding with anger but mostly he’s just sad. Sad because he might lose Eddie in a totally different way right now.

He can feel Eddie look up at him, he’s always been able to feel it when Eddie looks at him. “Say what?”

Richie bites his tongue, forcing himself into silence. He breathes in and out. “You’ve just...been weird all night.” He looks down at the book forgotten in his lap.

“I’ve...been processing, Rich,” Eddie responds, and there’s a tinge of annoyance to his voice, “You just came out, it’s a big deal—“

“I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

“What do you mean you didn’t want it to be a big deal, you made everyone shut up—“

“Because I wanted you guys to hear me, Eddie, what the fuck is this?”

“Nothing!” Eddie says, shaking his head violently. “Nothing, I just...” he shakes his head, and looks down, “I didn’t know.”

Richie slumps back in his chair. He wants to be anywhere but here right now.

“You never said anything about it, when we were kids, or when—“

“How could I have said anything about it?”

Eddie looks up at him, confused.

“Eddie, it was the eighties. We grew up in a conservative ass town in _Maine_. The only person I ever told was Stan—“

“You told Stan?”

Richie frowns. Yeah, he told Stan. Because Stan was the only Jewish kid in the whole town and they both had to go through the bullying and teasing. They both knew what their ‘good Christian town’ did to kids like them. 

The same thing they did to the Black Spot.

“Yeah, I told Stan. I had a right to tell who I wanted, Eddie—“

“You never told me.” Eddie says, voice a little sad, but his face set in indignant annoyance.

Richie knows what Eddie means; he knows Eddie’s just upset because the two of them are the inseparable _Richie-and-Eddie_. But Richie could have never, ever told Eddie because Eddie was the reason Richie even knew he was gay in the first place.

“Eddie, how the fuck could I have ever told you? Have you met yourself?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Dude, I knew if I told you you’d think of it like I had some fucking disease!” 

Eddie’s jaw drops. Then he closes it, and shakes his head. His eyebrows furrow and he frowns. Richie cover his face with his hands, sighing heavily. The fight in him is gone now, his anger left him feeling empty and exhausted. He wants to cry.

“No I wouldn’t have.”

“Eddie, yes, you—“

“_No,_ Richie, I wouldn’t have! You’re my best friend and I love you.”

The words send a jolt down Richie’s spine, his breath stopping in his throat. He knows Eddie means it in a friend sort of way — he can’t possibly mean it any other way — but it makes Richie’s mouth go dry all the same. He can’t look at Eddie — can’t look at those soft eyes and that sharp jaw and his cute fucking face that make his heart ache — so he looks down at his hands instead. 

After a beat of silence, Richie responds the only way he knows how. “That’s pretty gay, Eddie.”

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it might actually hurt. “Oh my god, Richie.”

Richie laughs, relieved and actually happy, the tension in his muscles releasing. 

“Really, it’s impossible to talk to you sometimes.” Eddie’s grumbling like he always does, but he’s smiling, and maybe he’s relieved too. He smiles as Richie laughs and then holds his arms out.

Richie nearly passes out when he realizes Eddie’s gesturing for a hug.

“Come on asshole, don’t make me beg for it.” Eddie says when Richie stares at him.

“Oh, I think I want to see you beg for it, Eds.” Richie responds with a grin, but he gets up and squeezes Eddie into a hug, both of them laughing into each other. 

“I should tell you something too, actually.” Eddie sighs after they pull apart, making room for Richie on the hospital bed.

“Oh great, I didn’t actually turn you gay with a hug did I?”

Eddie punches him in the arm.

“No dickwad, I called my wife earlier.” He points a threatening finger at Richie when he makes a face. “I called her and I told her...I wanted a divorce.”

Eddie says it like he can’t even believe it himself. Their shoulders are touching.

“Wow,” Richie whistles, “I can’t even make a joke about that one, Eds.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes out on a laugh, eyes wide.

“Guess almost getting murdered by a demonic clown made you grow a pair, huh?”

Eddie rolls his eyes again, but he smirks, “I guess so.”

Richie chuckles, bumping into Eddie playfully. The places where their bodies touch are warm, and the places where they don’t are cold. Richie swallows.

“Yeah, I guess that Pennywise fucker made me have some sort of revelation.”

“What kinda revelation?”

“The ‘I’m gay’ revelation.” Eddie looks at him, smiling.

Richie snorts, shaking his head. “Ha-fucking-ha.”

Eddie’s smile twitches and he looks away. “I’m not joking.”

Richie stops smiling. He realizes he’s suddenly much too close to Eddie; their hips and thighs are touching through the thin hospital blanket. 

“You mocking me or something, Eds?” Richie’s voice is quiet, hoarse with an emotion he doesn’t recognize. Fear? Excitement? Confusion?

Eddie shakes his head. “No. I’m actually pretty serious.” He looks at Richie, his pupils blown. 

“I’m gay, Richie.”

Richie just looks at him, eyes wide behind his thick frames. Richie licks his lips nervously, and he watches the way Eddie’s eyes dart down to his mouth before moving back up to meet his eyes.

“Copycat.” Richie breathes out on a smile.

Eddie laughs, nearly shoving Richie off the bed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You can’t be gay, I’m gay!”

“What do you mean, I _can’t_ be gay?”

“Eds, there’s only room in the Losers Club for _one_ gay asshole, and I’ve already filled that slot.”

“Well, too bad jackass! Make room!”

At the end of the night, after too much laughter and trying to squeeze into one tiny hospital bed, when Eddie falls asleep on Richie’s shoulder, Richie decides it’s the best night of his life.

Two weeks later, they discharge a newly divorced and healing Eddie. The doctors give him very specific instructions on the kinds of medicine to take and when to replace the bandages. Eddie writes all the information down, as Richie chuckles over his shoulder.

The Losers make different kind of path this time; one where they promise to meet up every year and talk every day. They’re not going to forget again. 

Richie and Eddie are on their way out of Derry for the last time, headed to the Bangor airport. Richie’s offering Eddie a place to stay while he recovers and goes over the divorce papers. 

They’re about to pass the old Kissing Bridge when Richie pulls over his expensive rental and puts it in park. Eddie looks up from where he’s studying the map on his phone.

“C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

“Richie, we don’t have time—“

“It’ll take two seconds you big baby, come on.”

Before Eddie can retort, Richie’s popping open the car door and stepping out. Eddie sighs, mutters something, and reluctantly follows him.

It still hurts to walk, and the doctors told him it would be a while before he could run or lift anything over twenty pounds. But he can walk the short distance from the car door to where Richie’s squatting in front of the wooden railing no problem. He’s pulled out a pocket knife, and seems to be carving something into the age-softened wood. Eddie stops at Richie’s side, and realizes that the carving isn’t new, it’s old, and Richie’s simply etching it back to life.

“You actually carved something here?” Eddie chuckles. There’s an _R +_ carved into the wood, but he still can’t see the other initial, obscured partially by Richie’s hand.

Eddie’s about to make a joke about this stupid old bridge but then he moves a little to the left and spots the other initial Richie’s carving out and—

oh.

Richie finishes touching up the carving, flicks the knife away and stands up, hands shoved in his pockets. He steps back and stands next to Eddie.

Next to the plus sign, Richie had carved an _E._

“Don’t freak out or anything. I was fourteen and crushing hard on the cutest boy I’d ever seen.”

Eddie waits for the punchline, but none comes. Richie’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle.

“Well, I still kinda am. Pathetic, right?”

Eddie feels Richie turn to look at him. Slowly, he meets his eyes. There’s a small, soft smile on Richie’s face. Eddie continues to stare, and Richie’s eyes dart to the carving, then back to Eddie.

“Sorry, is this weird? It’s kinda weird, isn’t it. Let’s get back in the car— I didn’t mean to like, freak you out, Eds, I just thought I was getting some signals, y’know, like back in the hospital?” Richie shifts away from Eddie, face red and eyes averted. “And then you said you were gay too and I freaked out but — this is weird? Yeah, yeah this is a little weird, let’s— I’m gonna—“

Eddie grabs his arm and just leans right in and kisses him. 

He puts a hand on Richie’s cheek and leans in until he can feel those glasses on his own skin and just lets himself feel it. It’s warm and safe and grounding and just a little wet and Eddie never wants to do anything else for as long as he lives. He can’t believe he’s gotten by this long without doing this. Richie has stubble; a scratchy more-than-five-o’clock-shadow and it feels wonderful.

Eddie pulls away a bit, just so he can breathe in. Their noses are touching and Richie’s staring at him, his blush spreading down his neck now. Eddie steps back, and swallows, removing his hand from Richie’s face. Richie blinks owlishly at him, then adjusts his glasses. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then he opens it again.

“Eds?” Richie adjusts his glasses again, hand shaking as a bright smile creeps onto his face, “Do that again?”

Eddie does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> richie’s coming out scene was inspired by a meme i saw so i can’t take full credit for it lmaoo
> 
> i lied there will be a short epilogue after this chapter :)))


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween y’all :)

**Five years later**

Richie sighs, looking over the script in front of him. It’s late at night, and Eddie is already upstairs in bed. Richie should be there too, but here he is at their kitchen table, staring blankly at a laptop screen, working. 

He knows the act is _good_, but he doesn’t _feel_ like it’s good. 

He leaves for the show — a comedy festival — tomorrow and they’ve already rehearsed the old script and he really shouldn’t be revising it the night before like he is. He backspaces frantically, then retypes the line, then deletes it. He sighs, his hands pushing up his glasses as he scrubs at his burned-out eyes. He’s texted his manager to ask for advice, but he’s just giving Richie shit for it, blowing up his phone like a mad man. It’s his script, he should have a right to change it no matter how late it is. Richie sighs, looking back down at the screen. He pulls up a video of one of his old acts on YouTube; maybe it’ll get him out of this awful-ass rut.

But, no surprise, that only makes him feel worse about his comedy. He runs a hand through his hair and sits back, exhausted. At a particular awful joke, Richie sighs and bites out, “Fuck this guy, man.”

A voice from behind him; “Fuck this guy!”

Richie whips around in the chair, though he already knows who the little voice is coming from.

Ridley bounces on her feet on the staircase, gripping the railing and hiding a smile behind her blanket because she _knows_ she can’t say those words, dammit.

Richie bites back a smile and tilts his head at her. “You should not be saying those words, little bug.”

“But _you_ say it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause only grown ups can say that word. That word isn’t for little bugs like you.”

She dips her head low and jumps off the stairs to run towards him. He meets her halfway and scoops her up into his arms.

“What you doing?” She asks, pointing a chubby finger at his laptop. 

“Work.” He says, quickly pausing his act so she can’t hear any more of it. She’s already terrorizing both of them with her potty-mouth — she gets it from him, Richie’s a little proud to admit. “You should be in bed.”

“You doing jokes?” She says, completely ignoring him, and he grins. 

“Yep.”

“Tell me one!”

“If I tell you one, will you go back to bed without a fight?”

“Yes.”

“Deal,” Richie nods and she looks up at him expectantly. He tries to think of one he hasn’t told her.

“What do cows do in their free time?”

“What?”

“They go to the _moo_-vies.”

She pauses, then realization dawns on her and she throws her head back in laughter. Her reaction alone makes Richie laugh — if only his regular audience was this easy. 

He stands up and sits her on his hip, shaking his head in amusement. Ridley’s still giggling behind her hands as they trudge up the stairs and down the hall. When they get to her room, she’s quiet.

He’s tucking her in when she says, “Do you _have_ to go tomorrow?”

He pauses, looking down at her, stuffed turtle clutched in her arms, eyes in standard puppy-dog mode. He smiles sadly.

“Yeah. I have to.”

She sighs and looks down, frowning.

“I’ll be back before you know it, little bug.”

“But you’ll be so far away,” she whines, sounding very suddenly like she’s about to cry. 

“I won’t be that far away, we’ll be in the same hemisphere.”

“What’s that?” Ridley looks up.

“Well,” Richie points out the window, at the moon hanging above the trees, “it means when you look at the moon and the stars at night, I’ll be looking at the same sky.”

“Really?” She looks at the moon, and then back to her father, wide eyed.

“Yeah. So I won’t be _that_ far away.” 

Ridley seems reassured by this, because she lays back in bed without fight. Richie pulls the blanket up to her chin and kisses her head. 

He leaves her door slightly ajar and instead of going back down to the kitchen, he just goes straight to their bedroom. The lights are off and Richie can barely make out the figure of Eddie sleeping soundly in their bed. Richie’s packed suitcases are by the closet, silhouetted in shadows.

He sets his glasses on the nightstand and crawls into bed with a tired sigh. He throws an arm over Eddie’s body and is surprised when his husband moves.

“Script good?” He mumbles as he turns onto his back, his hand finding Richie’s face in the darkness. 

“As good as it’s gonna get.” Richie mutters as he kisses each finger.

“‘M sure it’s fine,” Eddie breathes, settling into the mattress.

“Better be or my ass is fired.” Richie snorts and Eddie laughs softly. Richie takes Eddie’s hand in his and strokes his wrist with his thumb. “Ridley doesn’t want me to go.”

“She never wants you to go, Rich.”

“I just feel bad.”

“Don’t, it’s just for a few days. Besides, she’s only sad because you won’t be there to encourage her swearing habits.”

“I do _not_ encourage her.” Richie pouts, and he hears Eddie hum in response. They lay in silence for a moment, the air between them warm and still. “I’ll miss her though. You too.”

Eddie rolls over onto his side, smiling. “I’ll miss you too.”

Richie scoots forward and kisses him, smile spreading against his lips. “Don’t cry over me too much, Spaghetti-Man. No matter where I am, we’ll still be under the same sky.”

Eddie laughs, sitting up, “Fuck off.”

“What?”

“Is that what you think I do when you’re gone?” Eddie laughs, squinting down at him, “You think I stare longingly up at the stars all teary and _pining_—“

“Fuck you, brat!” Richie’s laughing too, feeling Eddie shake against him as he launches into a mocking tone.

“Oh my _dearest_ Richie, how I miss you so! How I yearn for your touch and for your voice, my sweet beloved—“

Richie tackles him to the bed before he can go on, muffling his laughter with his body.

“God, I married such an asshole! You’re so mean to me, you know that?”

“Seriously, you act like I’m a lovestruck wife about to watch her husband go away to war.” 

“Fuck you, Eds.”

“Okay.” Eddie grins and pulls Richie down by his neck, capturing him in a kiss. Richie groans, his hands coming up to Eddie’s face, keeping him in place as they kiss.

“You know I will miss you, right?” Eddie gets out through a kiss, words breathy and hot on Richie’s jaw. “Like I was joking, but I will miss you. I always do.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Richie says, pausing his kisses. “You gotta call everyday Eds, I don’t know if I can go a week without hearing your voice.”

Eddie grins from below him, and reaches up to touch Richie’s face gently. Richie smiles back; he loves him.

“I’ll call. And don’t worry, I’ll give you lots to listen to.” His hand slides up Richie’s shirt, his grin widening because he knows he’s a tease. 

Yeah, Richie loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go read my other shit w/ ridley in it!! 
> 
> ily all and happy halloween!! :))

**Author's Note:**

> the rest of the story is already done, this whole doc was just crazy long so there will be like three or four chapters
> 
> also this is the start of the ridley-verse (my au where richie and eddie raise a kid together) so go read my other fics with ridley in them thank u :)


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